This is a poem about my grandfather recently diseased Eugenio Mestroni, but I think it's more a poem about aging generally. Being around my father and grandfathers family I was continually reminded how disconnected we as humans are from our aging bodies.
He never stopped being 20 people say about my grandfather, but I think it could be said about most aging people.
Water
I knew him well
Tall as a mountain
Bright in tooth and eye
Sore headed young at heart
Though decaying inside
Struggling to cling to water the seed
Of life the origin of life
Boring a nest for himself by the sea
To view the sea to remember the sea
His hair was thick knotted
A pustule came from his right cheek
The funniest thing about the sight of his corpse
Was how red it was
How bright scarlet red
Blood pooled too long and
Next it was purple and then maybe transcended colour and life
Or maybe even now he lies log hard pinned to the steel covered ceremoniously
Blood, phlegm and bile draining down an unseen sinkhole
A collection of poems and musings by a rookie poet and constant dreamer - J.O.S.H
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